


Totally F*****

by amadnesskinks



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Making Out, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 10:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16173539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amadnesskinks/pseuds/amadnesskinks
Summary: He blinks at Lin, who is bouncing on his toes making grabby hands at Jon.  “Um, what?”“Let’s make out!  Please?  You know how nervous I get before interviews and--well, everything.  This will totally focus my energy!  C’mon, Groffsauce!  Please?”





	Totally F*****

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just an excuse to write makeouts and biting that grew emotions and took an unexpected turn toward a happy ending. I started it months ago, and decided to finish it for kinktober because why not? If there's a weird tonal shift, that is probably why. Just enjoy the makeouts and biting, people, don't question it.
> 
> Kinktober prompt was "biting." I am doing these massively out of order /not sorry.
> 
> If you are one of the real people mentioned in this fic, I do apologize, please, let's just forget this ever happened.

_There’s a moment you know you’re fucked_ , Jon thinks, _and this is it._

He blinks at Lin, who is bouncing on his toes making grabby hands at Jon. “Um, what?”

“Let’s make out! Please? You know how nervous I get before interviews and--well, everything. This will totally focus my energy! C’mon, Groffsauce! Please?”

Jon sighs, and thinks again, _Fucked_.

*

They’ve kissed before, is the thing. Countless rounds of unspoken chicken, where one or both of them break, have occasionally ended with their lips locked. And then there are the kisses the world knows about, too, the birthday kisses, forever immortalized on the internet. Most of their lip-to-lip contact has been like that, soft presses, or the more aggressive mouth mashed to mouth when one of them is trying to take the other by surprise.

This is different.

Once Jon’s sighed and acquiesced (as Lin expected him to if the look on his face is anything to go by), Lin has Jon sit on the couch. Lin settles into Jon’s lap, his knees on either side of Jon’s thighs, rests his hands on Jon’s shoulders, where he can nudge Jon’s head to tilt back exactly how he wants it. Lin leans down, and Jon can’t stop a soft whimper from escaping as their lips meet.

_Totally fucked_ , he thinks.

Lin’s mouth is gentle, coaxing. He takes his time, licks carefully at the seam of Jon’s lips, flicks his tongue just inside Jon’s mouth but doesn’t invade. Jon parts his lips for Lin, but Lin just smiles against Jon’s mouth and keeps up his soft kisses. At some point Lin got one hand in Jon’s hair and now he’s petting, soft and sweet.

Jon shivers as Lin bites carefully at the corner of his mouth, and finds he’s moved his hands to clutch at Lin’s shoulders. He must make a noise--probably a soft, desperate one, if Jon knows his body at all--because Lin whispers, “Shh, yeah. Just like that, sweetheart,” and goes right back to kissing him. Jon tries to kiss back, but Lin takes over any moves Jon starts to make, pulls him back to the soft kisses, or settles him into the slow pace Lin seems set on. Eventually Jon just gives up and lets Lin do what he wants. It’s easier that way, even if it does seem a little lazy.

By the time the inevitable knock at the door comes, Jon’s thoroughly dazed, and it’s going to take makeup at least twenty minutes to get him presentable, but Lin doesn’t let him up, even though Jon’s stomach is twisting and his body is fighting to sit back up from where he’s somehow wound up sprawled across the couch, legs splayed, Lin’s solid weight firmly on top of him.

“Hmm,” Lin manages, just barely lifting his head enough to call, “What’s up?”

“Your interviewer called a few minutes ago, Lin,” Lin’s assistant calls. “They want to reschedule for next week. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, perfect. Just fit it in anywhere,” Lin agrees, his head already dropping back down, although instead of Jon’s mouth, he seems to have found a spot on Jon’s neck he thinks needs immediate attention. “Mmm,” he growls, sinking his teeth in and worrying the skin under his mouth.

“Okay, I’ll set it up. Don’t forget you have curtain in two hours, Lin. And Philippa wants to go over the blocking for ‘Helpless’ before the show. When should I tell her you’re free?”

“Never!” Lin yells, only grudgingly taking his mouth away from Jon’s neck. Jon has to bite his knuckles to stifle a desperate moan as Lin’s movement upward to shout at his assistant through the door pushes Jon down into the cushions more. Lin’s mouth is already back, this time mouthing at Jon’s bicep, and when the thin t-shirt Jon’s wearing gets in his way he practically rips it in his efforts to shove it back far enough to bite exactly where he wants. This isn’t the play-bite he’d given Jon’s neck earlier, and Jon can’t help but gasp, his eyes flying wide and then slamming shut. He clamps a hand over his mouth, tries to shake his head at Lin, but Lin’s found a new thing to play with, and he’s not going to stop.

“Lin!” the assistant shouts, and Lin jerks his head up guiltily. “If you don’t answer me on the rehearsal time I will tell everyone you have underwear with the days of the week on them!”

“I do not!” Lin shouts back, indignant.

“How will you prove that, though?” the assistant asks with a laugh. “I’ll tell Phillipa you’ll meet her in half an hour, okay?”

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Lin agrees, waving a hand that only Jon can see. The assistant makes an annoyed noise from the other side of the door and leaves. Lin happily goes back to mauling Jon’s neck.

“Oh god,” Jon moans. “Lin. Lin. We have to stop! You don’t have anything to be nervous about anymore, and no one is going to be able to cover a bruise that high up my neck!”

“Shh,” Lin commands. “I’m enjoying this. Let me?”

“Let you enjoy it?” Jon asks, nonplussed. He might be protesting, but Lin is certainly free to ignore him if he likes--to a point.

“No,” Lin says, sinking his teeth into Jon’s shoulder. “Let me bruise you? Somewhere out of sight, I swear! You can pick!”

Jon’s heart flutters a little--okay, a lot--at that. “Fuck, okay,” he agrees. “I guess--my thigh. High enough up I can still wear shorts if I want without it showing.”

Lin looks like he just got handed all the candy in New York.

*

_So very, totally fucked_ , Jon thinks.

His pants are off now, because he did not think it through before offering his thigh, and fuck. _Fuck_ , he thinks again. Lin is totally going to see how hard Jon is.

There’s a long moment where Lin studies Jon’s thigh, clearly choosing the best place to bite, and then--

“Oh, fuck,” Jon moans.

Lin makes this stupid growling noise at Jon and Jon just laughs and whines a little, and Lin bites harder.

“Mmm,” Lin hums. “Gonna bruise you so good, Jon. Gonna have my teeth on you for a week.”

Lin bites again, and Jon claps a hand to his mouth to stifle his shriek. _Yeah, you’re fucked all right_. Jon wishes _Spring Awakening_ would stop playing in his head. It doesn’t.

*

The bruise lasts a week, as promised, and every time Jon looks at it, he thinks _fucked_.

*

_I should know better than to let Lin take my pants off_ , Jon thinks, staring at the ceiling in their dressing room. His pants are, indeed, off, and Lin is once again biting his thighs. _I should know better_. It’s a thought worth sharing, Jon decides as he sucks in a breath at the feeling of Lin’s teeth sinking into the soft flesh just below his boxers. “I should know better than to let you take my pants off.”

“To be fair,” Lin laughs, interrupting himself for another bite, “I did kind of ambush you.”

“I’ve got to stop listening when you _demand_ I take my pants off as soon as I enter the room,” Jon amends the statement.

“Aw, no!” Lin pouts, stopping his sucking at the red mark on Jon’s thigh and leaning over Jon so the pouting is more effective. “Why? That’s no fun.”

Jon sputters a little bit, looks down at the bruises already showing up on his inner thighs, and flops back onto the couch. “I'm fucked. Totally, totally fucked.”

Lin sits back on his heels. “Wait, what?”

“I don’t suppose you’d believe I’m having _Spring Awakening_ flashbacks?”

“That didn’t sound like past-show memories,” Lin says, smacking Jon’s knee lightly.

Jon groans and tries pouting. Usually that works, but Lin isn’t distracted this time. “I’m so fucked, here,” Jon grumbles. “You’re all--” he waves a hand between Lin and the bruises on his thighs “--and I’m--” another wave at himself this time.

Lin stares at him, in a way that clearly says “Are you serious right now?”

“Fucked, all right?” Jon insists, deciding staring at the ceiling is better than staring at Lin while Lin’s having some kind of intense moment involving eyebrows and glaring a hole into Jon’s skull.

“Fucked, how?” Lin asks slowly.

“I--” Jon starts, but Lin stops him.

“Specifics, Jonathan,” Lin insists.

Jon sighs. “I mean, I’ve had backstage flings before,” he starts. “It’s fine, I get it. But like, you’re different for me, and it sucks, because I don’t want a backstage fling, I want--something else.”

Lin’s grin is wide when Jon risks a glance at him. “Jonathan Marie Groff,” Lin says, stupid grin still on his perfect face. “You want me to be your _boyfriend_.” Lin drags the word “boyfriend” out into a sing-song cadence and Jon blushes. “Cool,” Lin says, pulling Jon upright and rearranging them somehow so they’re snuggling together.

“Cool? That’s it? I have been angsting about this for weeks!” Jon complains, trying to figure out how they got from thigh-biting to pantsless cuddling.

“That’s what you get for not just asking for what you want. White boys, I tell you,” Lin teases. They’re quiet a moment, then Lin asks, “I can still bite you sometimes, right?”

“Ugh,” Jon grunts in mock-annoyance. “Yes, fine. By the way, where are my pants?”


End file.
